I was rolling in the moolah like a Middle-Eastern ruler, 

Sitting pretty on a veritable mint. 

I'd sufficient filthy lucre to make Atahualpa puke or

Even Croseus have a fit, but now I'm skint. 

 

My enormous stash of duckets could have filled a thousand buckets, 

I had green and cash and folding stuff galore.

Though my vast supplies of gravy could have subsidised a navy

If I'd wanted, at the present time I'm poor. 

When I used to drip with money I could always get a honey

Round to frolic in my gilded antique bed. 

My innumerable riches rendered everyone my bitches, 

But I'm currently completely out of bread. 

I was so supremely wealthy people said it was unhealthy, 

And I took their criticism on the chin, 

Unaware my life in clover would be well and truly over

When I bet the lot on Hillary to win.  

Broke

© 2019 by Rob Stuart